Ventil of Nightmares
by Siegrain
Summary: I came from a well established family. I attended a fairly prestigious high school. I enjoyed playing video games. I was ambitious. I gained power. I bathed in agony. I became a tyrant. I, a mere high school student, brought the world to an end.
1. To Those who Hear a Tyrant's Musings

_Author's Note:_

_Hello and thank you for clicking on this story. For all those who are about to embark on this tale, please be aware that reviews (if any) will also be promptly replied to via PMs._

_I'm hoping to sum this all up in one author's note, so bear with me here. This story is dark, twisted, and hopefully it will be something special. Chapters will most likely not be updated on a regular basis, and there will probably be a significant time-lapse between them._

_Please do not take the opinions of the story's characters to heart, as they are purely for character development/plot purposes._

_This story is not an AU. However, it begins one year before Rin and Yukio's freshman year at True Cross._

_Thank you, and good reading._

__Disclaimer:__

_Ao no Exorcist/Blue Exorcist is the property of Katou Kazue, and not of myself. All trademarked characters, locations, and ideas belong to their respective owners. This work is a piece of non-profit fanfiction used for entertainment purposes only. All original characters, locations, and ideas belong to this fanfiction's author and are not to be used without their consent._

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><p><strong>Blue Exorcist<strong>

**Ventil of Nightmares**

_By Siegrain_

**1. To Those who Hear a Tyrant's Musings**

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><p>When I was young, my parents had high expectations from me. Often times they'd suggest career paths I might find interesting, more so to them than myself. My father seemed to be fixed on me becoming a businessman and taking over the family industry, while my mother was ever persistent on making me into a man of the arts.<p>

"Darling, I have signed you up for art classes as of a few minutes ago. Doesn't that sound just wonderful?"

"That sounds brilliant, mother. Thank you." Once my mother had left, my father entered as if on cue and bombarded me with yet another round of news.

"Son, you're to be attended to by an accountant I have hired. I know that you secretly don't want to learn all of that art rubbish and would much rather know the ways of a money-maker, so there is no need to thank me."

"Yes father, rubbish. Thank you."

Life at the time was very routine; wake up in the morning, throw on proper clothes, travel down for the morning meal, and then bid my parents farewell as they left to who-knows-where. I had no idea what their job really _was_, I just knew that it had to be important considering how long and hard they worked.

When I became a little older, my parents' expectations seemed to lower somewhat, but they continued to push classes onto me nonetheless. Truthfully, I did want to please them—I just didn't know _how_.

How could I please my father; a man so high up on the world chain that I could only hope to catch a glimpse of his face as I stared up from my speck on the ground. And my mother; a woman so cultured and esteemed that I was as close to reaching her as I was to becoming the first man to colonize Saturn.

I was seven at the time, and I didn't see them for more than two hours a day, usually in the morning. When they came home, I was expected to be in bed. Secretly I'd lie awake, waiting to hear the door open to make sure they'd come home safely, and only then would I drift off to sleep.

No matter how much I studied or memorized, nothing seemed to be enough. Initially, I had gotten off on the right foot, but I didn't really receive any praise from my parents. It was inevitable that I would try to seek refuge from the "real world." I wanted to be someone important too.

As days turned to months and months turned to years, I became obsessed with something called the gaming world—a world where I was adored by all, and where _I_ was the one people looked up to. Granted, I became so entranced by the power of being the main character that it became an obsession—gaming, that is.

The large expectations my parents had for me whittled away every time they saw me lying on my bed, clacking away on a game console.

By the time I was thirteen, I spent more than half the day sitting in front of a screen trying to save the princess of generic fantasy land, or something similar to that; the rest of the day would be filled with more studies and a full-blown exercise program my parents had desperately thrown together in order to keep me from becoming overweight.

I quickly came to realize that I was, in fact, _good_ at gaming when I had set a record for most amount of completed titles. Once I had switched to playing online, I was even hailed as a gaming master—someone who could defeat any storyline in record timing.

That was the first time I'd ever been praised for something I'd done myself.

After much debate, my parents opted to send me away to a supposedly "foreign prestigious academy" I had never even heard of, with nothing but a suitcase full of clothes and a monthly salary that would remain untouched for most of my stay. They'd told me that it would be good for me to develop my independence, language skills, and get a taste of the "real world," not that I was interested in it at this point. To me, the world on my screen was the "real world."

At fifteen years of age, I was sent away with a cold farewell after my parents failed to show up for my departure (which I had come to expect). Then again, they were busy people, so I couldn't really blame them. I wasn't too miffed about it either way, mostly because I could take my refuge—my game console—with me. The only thing I was required to do was call them once a month to let them know I was still alive and kicking.

Of course, you could imagine how enthusiastic I was when I learned that I'd been shipped off to Japan—the land of wonderfully articulated games. I'd spent a good two days just browsing through game stores non-stop, although I did encounter some difficulty with my purchases.

"Excuse me, but I would like to purchase these items." The man gave me the most confused stare I had ever witnessed in my life. I then remembered that he would not know how to speak English, and attempted to ask my question in the language I had assumed to be Japanese.

Let's just say that I'm not welcome at that store anymore.

When I had actually gotten around to entering the school my parents had enrolled me in, I don't think I could have been any more surprised. Of course my parents would send me to a school that looked like its own bloody country—how in the world was I supposed to navigate around the campus, anyway?

More importantly, how was I supposed to participate in a school? I'd been homeschooled my entire life, which was probably not the best idea for "gaining independence," as my parents had put it.

As luck would have it, I was two hours late for the entrance ceremony and ended up not being able to attend. Instead, I spent the duration of the time attempting to charm the beauty of typical high-school-drama-land that lay dormant within the depths of my gaming console. Before long, students were plowing out of the building behind what I assumed to be a tour guide.

That day I learned that the actual school only consisted of a mere four buildings; what the rest of the land was for I will never know. It seemed to me as though the headmaster of the school was hell-bent on creating his own nation. I say this because he had established his own hell-themed theme-park (which is rather impractical).

The idea only continued to sink in further after I saw that the man looked more like a colorful clown rather than the owner of an academy.

Time wore on blandly; I attended the usual classes, gradually (after playing various Japanese titles) learned the language, and made a small group of acquaintances who shared the same interests as me. I quickly transitioned into my second year, and the cycle began once again.

But I was not contented with the life I lead. Often, I was reminded of the feats my parents accomplished whenever a news report came onto the television screen, or when I picked up a copy of the global newspaper (which was a rare occurrence).

I wanted to accomplish something of my own; I wanted people to know my name—to _revere_ it as they did in the games I played. But by the time I had accomplished just that… I can honestly say that I'd wished I'd never attempted to do it. In retrospect, my actions were my own undoing.

I was a criminal—perhaps a man as hated as Satan himself. A tyrant; a traitor. And in my own sick, twisted mind, a self-proclaimed savior.

I should have known the real world could not be compared to a world of fiction.

Perhaps if you take from my actions what I was unable to, and learn from them as I did not, then you might be able to do some good in my place.

For where I stand at this very moment is where I, a mere high school student, brought the world to an end.


	2. The World Begins with You

_Updated November 5th, 2011_

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><p><strong>Blue Exorcist<strong>

**Ventil of Nightmares**

_By Siegrain_

**2: The World Begins With You**

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><p><em>Beautiful, blood-stained flowers<em>

_can you tell me why_

_they continue to fight one another?_

_Beautiful, broken flowers_

_can you tell me why_

_they can't see that's no way to live?_

_**-o-o-o-o-**_

Here, there was no providence. You could not hope, you could not pray. You could hardly think over the sound of gunfire.

"_**Damn it all!**__ They've spotted us! Soldiers, it's either get __**DOWN**__ or be __**KILLED!**__"_

The better of the two choices was obvious to me, and I was prepared to throw myself behind the closest form of defense I could find. Unfortunately, we were on ground zero; the only things that could be used for shielding ourselves were each other, and I wasn't about to do that.

Several of the foot soldiers desperately dove to the ground, only to be shot the second they'd covered their heads. Others pulled their allies in front of them to use as shields. They would use their own allies as a means to save their own pitiful lives.

It made me _sick_. "You… You're disgusting. How dare you call yourself our ally…_"_

One of the soldiers tossed the lifeless body of his comrade aside and laughed at me maniacally, his eyes wide and gaping. "I don't give a flying crap about your opinion, kid**. **At this rate we're all gonna die—every single one of us!" He grinned widely and forcibly pulled another one of the soldiers in front to protect himself, laughing all the while as if he took some sort of twisted pleasure in it.

I grimaced and wrapped my fingers around the cold handle of my gun. It was already too late for him; he'd reached the point of insanity. If I let him live, he'd kill more people than he'd ever save. If only he'd held out just a little bit longer, then maybe, just _maybe_, I could have—

The turret guns mercilessly showered both of their bodies with a spray of bullets, penetrating muscle and bone, and sent enough blood into the air to make my stomach churn. And I was going to be next.

As hypocritical as it was, I dove behind them both, just narrowly escaping the next round of ammo that rang out over the field. I fumbled with the radio transmitter attached to my belt, and once I had managed to unhook it, mumbled, "Commander, I believe we have a problem."

His response roared into my ear, and I could tell the man was on the brink of hysteria. "_No __**shit**__ we've got a problem, Beta-6. Don't go cracking your tasteless jokes at a time like this._"

More bullets flew through the air; more screams could be heard as they hit. Ignoring the commander's dry response, I observed the weapons from safety as they continued to fire. With every shot that went off, the towers they were built into shook slightly.

I took up the receiver and said, "Sir, I believe I have a solution. But you're going to have to trust me."

"_What?_"

I peeked out from behind the bodies and set my eyes upon the main turrets fixed to the top of both lookout towers. The power they exerted to fire each bullet caused the structures to quiver, but not enough to cause them to collapse. However, if we took them down our victory would be assured.

Judging from the base of the tower's main frames, it was obvious that they weren't properly stabilized. I could see where our squadron's gun and canon fire had blown away the dirt, revealing the unbelievably shallow ground they'd been built into.

Morons. "The structures are very unstable and will collapse if the ground beneath them is blown away. Explosives will be best suited for the task." I added blithely, "It makes sense that they'd be sloppy, what with their low budgets and awfully made uniforms—"

"_I don't care if what you're saying is true or not Beta-6, but I'll take your word for it since it's the only shot we've got. Good luck, I'm leaving it to you." _A few other voices began arguing on the other end of the line about my suggestion, so I covered the receiver for the time being.

"Thanks for offering to help, commander," I mumbled under my breath. Putting that fact that I'd been left to bite the dust aside, what area would be weakest? The front door?

No, it would be heavily reinforced no doubt—not to mention the heavy stone front that they'd placed down. They'd been smart about at least one thing, making sure they wouldn't be slipping on blood as they ran. The stone would probably be too difficult to penetrate through with the amount of resources we had now either way.

It was hard to get a good view of all four sides of the tower, but evidently the side I was looking at would be no good for my plan. Very slowly, I began to inch away from behind the bodies that had kept me hidden from the line of fire, but I was immediately welcomed with a volley of bullets the moment my head was in view.

I cursed. No good.

I whipped out my receiver and reconfigured the settings so that my message would get across to every ally in the premises. I _needed_ help. "This is Beta-6. I repeat, this is Beta-6. Can anyone copy?"

An unexpectedly enthusiastic reply blasted into my ear from the device, nearly making me go deaf. _"WOAH, BETA-6 YOU'RE STILL ALIVE! I thought you were a goner in that gun shower earlier, yeah?" _Only one person in our entire army spoke like _that _at times like this.

"The confidence you have in me is remarkable, Delta-3," I scoffed. Me? Dead? Right. "Do you have a view of the left or right sides of the towers, or of the back?"

"_Uh, yeah. I think so."_

"You _think_ so?" I could hear him laughing victoriously on the other end, though somewhat shakily. "It's a yes or no question, Delta-3."

"_Well you see, I'm actually standing behind the left watch tower—don't be jealous. I'm practically glued to this thing. It's making my ass cold, yeah?"_

I had to force an abrupt laugh down my throat, and covered my mouth with my hand. This was so unbelievably lucky! How that idiot had managed to get that close was beyond me, but his position was perfect!

"_Uh, Beta-6, you still there?"_

I wiped a tear from the corner of my eye and answered, "Yes, I'm still here. Listen, how many explosives do you have on you right now? Any type will do, but mine bombs are preferred." When I heard him counting to himself quietly, I couldn't help but smirk. "You won't have more than ten."

"_Well duh, but there's more than one type on me, yeah?" _he retorted, clearly offended. _"Shit—I used all of my mines in initial landing. No, wait, I've got one left. Bet ya got scared there, didn't 'cha?"_

"Delta-3."

"_Yeah, yeah, I know. Oh, look at that! I also have two grenades, but I don't think I can toss 'em high enough to get into the gun holes." _He paused. _"Actually, I'm absolutely sure I can't throw that high."_

One mine, two grenades. Three bombs were better than nothing, but to topple the turret structures we would need at least four. Then realization hit me, and I swung a glance at my belt.

One mine bomb.

I stared at the shell for a good ten seconds before grinning and loosening my helmet. I enjoyed a good challenge. "Delta-3, I'm going to need you to lend me one of your grenades."

"_Ehh, yeah okay. Where're you now?" _he asked blandly.

I didn't want to tell him that I was hiding behind a stack of bloody bodies. Neither did I want him to worry about the fact that I was positioned in front of both towers—the guy tended to get overly emotional about things that could _possibly_ involve death.

I took off my helmet and grasped it in my right hand, then tightly latched the receiver onto my shoulder pad. "Don't worry about that right now; I'll reach you in a few minutes. There's something I'd like you to do for me before I get there, though."

"_Sure, buddy. As long as it doesn't involve climbing the tower, I'm good for it."_

"Don't worry, that won't be necessary. The structure is unsound and the turrets are automatic, so it wouldn't make any sense to." I readied myself on the ground, my heart pounding wildly in my chest. I could feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins; feel my mind become hazy, and my thoughts become reckless. I inclined my head towards the receiver to make sure he'd hear me, and said, "When they start firing, shoot the bullets with your gun."

A bewildered_ "__**WHAAAT?**__" _came back at me at full-power. _"Are you NUTS? How the hell am I supposed to shoot bullets that—" _The device suddenly became silent except for the occasional gunshot and a random tune that the man on the opposite end was humming.

Wait, what? "Why did you stop? And what are you humming for?"

"_Huh? Sorry, I thought you were going to interrupt me. ANYWAY, how do you expect me to shoot bullets that are going at like, one-hundred miles an hour without a—"_

"It doesn't have to hit all of them," I interrupted, not wanting him to get worked up. "Just hit a few to create some kind of noise. You're good with a rifle." From what I'd observed, the turrets responded to sound as a priority, then relied on movement as a secondary option if no sound could be detected. If Delta-3 managed to create some sort of racket, then the turrets would turn their attention away from me, and I'd be able to make a clean run.

"_But that's insane, yeah?" _He laughed, and I heard the familiar click of a gun being reloaded._ "I like it."_

"Good. I'll see you in a few minutes—don't move."

"_Duh."_

I tossed my hat into the air and made a dash for the tower, running zigzags in hopes that I wouldn't be shredded by the oncoming gunfire. The turrets immediately launched ammo at the helmet I had thrown, blasting it to bits and quickly reducing it to nothing, which is what I would have been if I had not sent it out first.

Once they had finished with my hat, they turned on me and began their rain of hell. Each shot barely missed its mark, my foot managing to fit in another step just before a bullet became embedded in it.

I was about halfway to the left tower when my luck ran out, and ammo pierced into my shoulder. The pain shot through the full length of my body in less than a second, and I fell to the ground, screaming and bleeding.

I was done for. I didn't make it.

This was it. "Dammit."

"_That's so uncool, yeah? Stop lookin' like a baby, Beta-6."_

A long, white bullet whizzed through the air, striking down a black one just as it was about to send me to the next world over. Hearing the impact, the turrets spun away from me and began shooting in the opposite direction. Not missing my chance, I forced myself off the ground and doubled my speed, ripping the receiver from the shoulder of my army suit.

When I'd finally reached the tower, I leaned against the cold, steel walls and gasped for breath. My shoulder was throbbing like crazy at this point, and blood was soaking through the cloth. Nonetheless, I was relieved to have made it out of there alive.

I coughed a hoarse thank you into the receiver, but Delta-3 simply laughed and said if it wasn't for my "devil's luck" I'd have been dead a long time ago.

"_So yeah, where are ya? I'm still at the back of the left tower."_

I blinked and looked around. I was at the back of the left tower, but there was no one here. Horrified, I looked to my left and noticed a soldier with messy black hair leaning against the tower a ways away from my own, then hit my head against the wall and cursed. I'd run to the wrong tower.

I guess my comrade had heard that as well because I could almost hear him execute a spit-take on the other end of the line. _"You ran to the __**WRONG TOWER?**__"_

"It's just a minor setback. Don't be too concerned—"

"_Well shit, I've got one bullet. Pretty bad situation here, yeah? You're probably bleeding to death right now."_

He was right; with every passing minute I became more lightheaded and dizzy. I probably wouldn't last too long if things kept going at this rate.

"_Damn, what do we do? We aren't gonna last much longer out here. No food, no water, and what? Three bombs? Four bombs?"_

"You aren't helping here—"

He took the liberty of pouring out his thoughts in a state of panic and cried, "_Well I'm not gonna stay calm in a situation like this! I don't wanna die, yeah? I'm twenty three. I'm in my PRIME! I have a dog waiting for me at home! Oh yeah, and a girlfriend too. She'll have to cry herself to sleep every night if I die!"_

I shook my head and clutched the receiver tightly. I had a strong urge to just break the thing.

"_My mother will never have GRANDCHILDREN—"_

"Delta-3, throw the grenade to me."

A series of severe choking and inhaling was all I heard through the device. _"Throw you the __**grenade?**__"_

I nodded. "That's what I said. It's not that far of a distance—I can even see you on the other side. Hurry, before I bleed to death."

He turned to face me, waved, and then did a double-take after noticing the distance. _"It's almost THIRTY METERS!"_

"Do you want your poor mother to have grandchildren?"

With a resigned sigh, he decided to co-operate with me. _"…Yeah, fine. At least this thing isn't motion activated. Man, can you imagine how much it would suck if I pressed the button when throwing it—"_

The quiet beep rang across our connection, but to my ears it was painfully loud. "…You pressed it, didn't you?"

He couldn't manage more than an outright, _"Well fuck."_

It was impossible to keep calm anymore. "THROW IT TO ME NOW! THAT THING HAS TWENTY SECONDS BEFORE IT **BLOWS YOUR HAND OFF!**"

"_THROWING IT I'M WILL MEAN—__**I MEAN I'M THROWING IT!**__" _He lurched forward and chucked the grenade over to me, miraculously putting enough force to cover the thirty-meter distance. I fumbled with the bomb in my hands and rapidly dug a hole beneath the backside of the building, clawing away the dirt and wincing as it piled beneath my fingernails.

There, under the metal structure, was an empty hollow just big enough to fit my land mine into—exactly as I had predicted. I fought with my belt in a battle to take the explosive, but after being unable to pull it loose I just yanked the whole thing off.

Fifteen seconds.

"Delta-3, copy my actions PRECISELY!" I threw the belt into the hollow, then ran a few paces back and readied the arm with the grenade in hand. I impatiently waited for him to do the same.

"_Okay, I threw the mine into this hole I found underneath, but what about the grenades? There's no way we can throw them to the top!"_

I pulled a light pistol out from my pocket and reloaded the ammo, then readied it at the sky.

Ten seconds.

I yelled across the distance as loud as I could because I had tossed my receiver to the ground after running out of hands to hold it with. "ACTIVATE YOUR GRENADE, THEN THROW IT AS HIGH AS YOU CAN. TRY TO REACH AT LEAST HALFWAY."

He yelled back equally as loud, "AND THEN WHAT?"

"SHOOT IT!"

"_**NHHHHGGGGG?**__"_

Five seconds. "DO IT **NOW!**"

I threw the explosive into the air with as much force as I could muster, and was torn between sighing with relief and smirking when it went past the halfway point. Without hesitation, I pulled the trigger and ran.

A blinding light blew out from behind me, enveloping the barren land around me in an ethereal glow.

And then the tower crumbled, and the world went black.

* * *

><p>When the world came back to me, I was surprised to find that I was, in fact, <em>not<em> dead, and didn't have missing limbs or even a bruise.

"Oh my, it looks like we have a winner! With an astounding time of nine minutes and forty-two seconds, this year's champion is Cyl Lockheart!" Who was that—and what was he talking about? Did I win the battle?

Several gasps came out from around me, and I heard a few voices cry out in disbelief.

"What? That's not humanly possible! The other players aren't even halfway through!"

"Well, well, he isn't called the gaming master for nothing! I just had to come after I'd heard he was competing!"

A slight pressure squeezed my shoulder, and I became aware of my unfamiliar surroundings. It was instantly clear to me that I was not in a bloody warzone anymore. I was in a dimly lit room, sitting in a chair in front of a large, glaring screen. Behind me there was a large audience of people, sitting in the stands and chatting loudly amongst themselves.

They were the fanatic type, no less.

"Welcome back to the real world!"

I blinked. Who was that?

"Well buddy, you were probably too busy to hear, but you won the competition by a mile. Really, nine minutes and forty-two seconds—you need to get out more!" The boy added jokingly, "The other guys are still having trouble with the first scene."

Was he talking to me? I tilted my head back and locked eyes with a teen that sported dark brown hair that hung well over half his face, and an overly cheerful smile.

If you'd seen him on the street, you'd probably forget him the second you walked by.

He raised a finger and flicked it against my forehead, then laughed. "Are you still playing the game up there?"

I nearly did a face palm after hearing those words. That's right—it had all been a game. Damn, I'd done it again.

"Giving me the silent treatment now, huh?"

I rubbed my forehead gently in an attempt to ease away an oncoming headache and rose from my seat. "Sorry Takashi, I was too absorbed in playing and forgot where we were," I admitted sheepishly.

He laughed again. "That's alright, I'm used to it. Are you going to take the prize money now?"

I nodded. "Yes, isn't that what we came here for?" I placed my console back into my pocket and pulled my beige uniform sweater over my head; I tended to get overheated when playing video games, so I'd have to take it off before I began. I could thank my father for passing that trait on to me.

Takashi enthusiastically ran up to the prize desk and waited for me to claim my prize money. I rolled my eyes as he continued waving me over, brimming with impatience. Takashi had never been the one to wait for things, and his anxiety would often cause him to skip class—like we were right now.

I'd never been the type of person to indulge in education. Spending hours a day in a classroom listening to the lectures of a complete stranger that failed to pique my interest, I was unable to comprehend the reason for willingly doing such things.

Yes, perhaps with education I could have attained a job considered to be desirable in the eyes of others, but then what? Like everyone else in our time, I would simply be pulled into the flow of society—a society that held nothing for me, and where I could not accomplish anything of remarkable stature; nothing that I would be proud of.

Nothing that would force the attention of my parents on _me_.

"Mr. Lockheart, are you alright?"

I felt my fingers curl around something papery and small, and noted that a dully colored envelope had been placed into hands while my mind had wandered off. The man who had announced my victory a few minutes prior looked at me concernedly, most likely thinking that I was a little off in the head.

In hindsight, he was probably right.

I forced a grin onto my face and slid the envelope into my bag. "Oh no, my mind just wandered off. Thank you for inviting me, I had an enjoyable time." That seemed to convince him, and he beamed charismatically after I had finished speaking. It was no wonder they'd picked him to be an announcer; his enthusiasm was dangerously contagious.

"Glad to hear that! Hopefully we'll be seeing you next year; your performance was absolutely remarkable!"

I was about to take my leave when someone suddenly grabbed my shoulder. Surprised, I instinctively hit the person's hand away.

"Ah, that was probably not the best approach."

When I turned around, there was a tall man wearing a brown pea coat and carrying a laptop under his left arm. His head was mostly hidden by a brown Wisconsin hat that covered both his ears and shadowed his eyes. His lips were curved into a mischievous smile.

He didn't seem like the type of person I'd want to get involved with.

He continued to smile at me and pulled his hat back a little, probably sensing my hesitation. "Sorry for the intrusion, but can I get an interview? I'm Saburota Toudou from the local newspaper. It'd be great to get an article about you."

I didn't want an article based on something like winning a competition. It wasn't an accomplishment, and most certainly wasn't something I'd want other people to think I was bragging about. That would only bring unwanted attention.

I tried my best not to meet his gaze. I got the sense that if I made any eye contact with the guy, he wouldn't let me leave until I gave him what he wanted. "Sorry," I started. "I really don't—"

"Come on, just one?" he pleaded, his smile growing wider.

"Really, I have to—"

Takashi swooped in between the two of us, thankfully saving me from a one-sided argument—but what was with people interrupting me today? I'd barely spoken a single full sentence in the past hour.

"Hey now, Cyl's a really timid guy. If you keep pressuring him, he might get scared and cry, and we don't want that happening here."

I frowned. Well, he _sort of_ saved me, though I didn't really like the way this conversation was going. Actually, I absolutely did _not_ like where this conversation was going.

The reporter widened his eyes and held up a hand apologetically. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know. He seems to have a lot of confidence when playing games, so I thought I might be able to get a few interesting facts from him."

Takashi laughed loudly and slapped my back in what I thought to be his attempt at easing the tension. "Nope, sorry! Oh Cyl, look at you. See, he's frowning—he's going to break down any minute now. We should probably get going before the sniffles start." He turned and began ushering me out of the room. "It's been nice, thanks for chatting! See ya!"

I was glaring at him during the entire explanation. "I'm not timid."

* * *

><p>"I swear, it gets worse every time you compete in these kind of things. You're getting too popular with the game addicts—maybe you should call it quits," Takashi complained, pushing me out into the blinding light of the midday sun. I raised my arm to shield my eyes and tried to readjust so that I'd be able to take a step without bumping into a lamp post.<p>

Yes, it's happened before.

"Wow, you're like one of those vampires—can't even take a walk outside when the sun's up," he commented, deliberately teasing me again.

I had to resist the urge to roll my eyes. "Thank you."

"Are you melting?"

"Not yet."

A long, pink limo then decided it would be funny to zoom through a puddle of sewage water and splash me. Takashi laughed hysterically. "Now you are!"

I could only watch as the muck rolled down my skin and soaked through my clothes. Well, I certainly knew what be going into Takashi's laundry basket this week. The console in my pocket then thought it would be laughable to short circuit and send a small jolt of electricity into my side, giving me my first taste of electrocution. It wasn't very enjoyable—_or_ laughable.

I attempted to flatten the strands of brown hair on my head that stood up on end as a result, but to no avail. Takashi licked his thumb and skillfully tried his hand at matting down the stray locks, only for them to spring right back up again.

"Well," he said. "Spiky hair is in nowadays. You'll be a big hit."

I gave him a flat stare. "Takashi, if it's alright I'd like you to let me push you into that puddle."

"Aww, don't be a downer. You scare everyone away when you say stuff like that."

"I'll keep that in mind."

We had circled around the bus stop because Takashi claimed that there was something he'd wanted to see downtown. I didn't protest against it, mostly because classes were already half-over and my console was broken, meaning I'd have nothing to do if we went back.

Now that he'd mentioned it, I vaguely remembered there was a repair man somewhere around the area. I could probably have my PSP fixed before we went back to campus. "Takashi, There's something I have to get fixed. Is it alright if we split here?"

Takashi arched his brow and glanced at me. "You sure know how to makes things sound over dramatic—it sounds like you're about to go to war." Well I kind of just came out of one. "But hey, guess you wouldn't be Cyl without all the dramatics. I'll see ya then, buddy!" he chirped, then spun around and strolled off in the opposite direction.

"Dramatics?" I repeated to myself, wondering if that was true. After mulling over it, I decided to just shrug it off and focus on getting my console repaired.

Now then, which way was the repair shop? Shoot, I should have asked Takashi for directions; I wasn't any good with them. I could become hopelessly lost in my own _house_. It was a miracle that I managed to navigate through my dorm.

I flinched as I heard my ringtone go off, and pulled my phone out of my bag. The mobile's screen flickered a fluorescent pink; someone had been tinkering with it again. Probably Takashi.

It wasn't anything elaborate or fancy—just an old, plain white model from last year. I only needed it to make calls when I was… well, lost.

I flipped it open without checking the caller ID, which was a very big mistake. "It's me."

"**CYL!** WHERE **ARE** YOU?" the feminine voice bleared into my ear, attracting a number of odd stares from the people around me. "You're cutting class to play your games again, _aren't_ _you?_ I swear—if you keep doing that, you're just going to get expelled! Not to mention you're on the student council. Do you know how much this is going to hurt our reputation?"

It just _had_ to be Kyou of all people calling me. I had no idea why she called me every time I cut class. In fact, I had no idea how in the world she'd gotten her hands on my number. I wasn't too keen on giving my contact information to psychotic women.

"Whoops, you caught me." I looked at my surroundings; I couldn't recognize any of them, save for a lone takoyaki stand. I had managed to stray away from the main road, though that wasn't much of a surprise. I had expected as much.

I accidentally bumped against a few people as I squeezed through the busy sidewalks of the shopping district, earning myself a good few yells and curses from the older citizens. I must have apologized over a hundred times in the time it took to get through there.

After reaching a more quiet area, I held my phone up to my ear and continued where I'd left off. "Oh, by the way, could you process a resignation form from the council for me? It's hindering my schedule."

Kyou was not amused. "As much as I'd like to, I can't. If I did, all your little otaku minions would go on a rampage. Don't sulk, but you just got a load of new paperwork in earlier this morning."

I groaned. "Paperwork? I just handed in the forms from yesterday. Are you sure you're not mixing your own in there as well? I don't remember being responsible for the cheerleading squad."

She stopped to yell at someone who just happened to be in the background—one of her many tactics for avoiding questions and venting her frustration. Two birds with one stone. "Hm? Yes, you heard right. More paperwork." She gave me a distasteful _tsk_ and said, "You should be aware of your responsibilities as a student council member."

"I am. I just choose to pursue my personal interests first." By now, I had absolutely no idea where I was. It was a district I had never been to, full of old-fashioned brick buildings and dark alleyways that screamed "do not enter". There weren't a lot of people around either. Well, at least I knew that I was still in the academy town.

"Ha-ha." After I'd rounded a corner, she decided to change the subject. "Anyway, Cyl where are you? Your reception is getting bad—are you lost again?"

Bull's-eye. "I might be… Okay I am. I'll admit that I'm no good with navigation."

"You're hopeless," she sighed. "Do you… now… at istri… you… 'n?" It took all that I had to concentrate on deciphering the fuzzy response, but even then I had no idea what she'd just said.

"Could you repeat that?"

Even through the terrible reception, I could hear the impatience edging her voice. "We… ar… you… 'n?" Nope, that was no good either.

I held the speaker close to my mouth and said, "Kyou, I think I have to hang up. I can't understand anything you're saying. I should be back in an hour… or a lot of hours."

"Wai—" she began to protest. But I wouldn't let her.

"If you see Takashi, tell him I'm going to be late and that he can start on the paperwork without me. Thanks!" I promptly hung up after that. I could imagine her sitting in the student council room slamming her phone down and screaming "_Cyl, that jerk!_" as Takashi said she'd done every time I'd hung up on her. It was kind of funny, imagining Kyou getting so worked up over something so silly.

Getting back on campus became the primary focus, although I had absolutely no idea where to start. Should I take a left? A right? An up? A _diagonal_?

Despite all the effort put into my thoughts, I took a random turn around a bend and discovered an alleyway that was exactly the same as all the others in every color, shape, and form, albeit the lower lighting. I ground my teeth in frustration and trudged down the path, deliberately making as much noise as I could to fill the empty silence.

Why did the headmaster have to make this place so large and maze-like? Was it his intention to make his students become hopelessly lost so he could laugh at them (me in particular) when they were brought back by a rescue team?

I could just imagine Mr. Faust sitting in his office with an all-knowing smirk adorning that black-haired head of his, and taking great pleasure in reprimanding me. No way was I going to let _that_ happen.

I decided to take a break to clear my mind; maybe that would improve my sense of direction, because what I was doing was not getting me _anywhere_. I slumped down to the ground and looked up at the sky, noticing that it was an unnatural shade—a cross between grey and an electric yellow. I'd never seen anything like it.

It wasn't supposed to rain today—I knew that. Despite that fact, I felt a wet drop land on the bridge of my nose. I huddled beneath a ratty, red pinstriped canopy in hopes of avoiding the oncoming downpour, but it never came.

Odd.

It was beginning to bug me, so I loosened my sleeve and used it to wipe the rain drop off of my face.

It was not rain.

I stared at the crimson stain on my arm for an immeasurable amount of time, unmoving and stunned. It seeped through the cloth, spreading further across the white fabric. I would never wear that shirt again.

What did you think—what were you _supposed_ to think when blood had just fallen from the sky and landed on you? How was that even possible? _Was_ that even possible? I took another swipe at my cheek and felt something scratch me as I checked to see if any more had managed to get on me. Thankfully, none had.

It was too strange for me to comprehend. I was the only one there. There was no sound, no screaming, no gunfire, so how had blood managed to come about? I decided that it would probably be best if I just left the place. Something was definitely off about it.

I stood up to leave, but my eyes settled on the walls in front of me—all caked with blood. I froze, and my eyes darted on their own accord to every corner of the alley, even though my mind was begging—pleading—screaming for them not to.

Blood was _everywhere_. Not just on the walls, but on the ground, the canopy, the windows.

On me.

I staggered back and hit the wall, then slumped onto the ground in a defenseless heap. The blood smeared onto my face as I shrank back against the bricks, and I had to force down the bile in my throat when the rotten stench filled my nose. My stomach was doing summersaults as I forced the pressure back, and I ended up feeling twice as sick as before.

This didn't make any sense. Blood didn't just appear out of nowhere, and I wasn't hurt—not physically, anyway. I was pretty shaken up mentally; I couldn't stop myself from trembling.

I shut my eyes and succumbed to my fear. I was scared—no, I was _terrified_. It was humiliating, being so afraid that you were unable to move. I thought that whatever had done this to someone else would do it to me the moment I tried to escape.

It was a miracle that I managed to stay sane the whole time.

"_What is this place?_" I asked aloud, my voice more shaky and anxious than I'd wanted it to be.

And then I heard it.

_Skritch._

I flinched.

I _wanted_ to see what was there—what was coming, but at the same time I didn't. Would it be human, or some kind of monster? A psychopath on the prowl? Would I be his next victim? Me, a sixteen year old who didn't even have a chance to do anything with his life yet?

_Skritch_.

I decided to risk a glance and peeked out from my arms to see someone—a human being—limping pathetically through the alley. That the person was a female was obvious. Her long, black hair was a tangled mess, and the dark coat she wore was in no better condition, shredded for the most part—the rest of it was bloody and worn. It could hardly be considered clothing anymore.

She didn't seem to have noticed I was there, but kept her eyes—those pained, brown eyes—fixated ahead. She quickly collapsed, but continued dragging herself across the concrete nonetheless, leaving a trail of crimson in her wake. She crawled across the ground for a good few minutes before she suddenly stopped halfway through.

And then she turned to look at _me_.

I wrapped my arms around my torso in an attempt to comfort myself. When I looked at her, it was like staring at someone who had died and been to hell, then brought back to life again. I'd never seen someone so beaten and injured, and yet I was still unable to move, even though she evidently needed help. _My_ help.

I saw her lips move slightly and realized she must have said something, but her voice was so weak I couldn't hear it at all.

And then it hit me.

What the hell was I doing? I was Cyl, the man who could clear a warzone in ten minutes, the man who could liberate an entire country without lifting a finger. But right now I was Cyl, the man who was too terrified to help a woman who could barely speak.

And that was not someone I wanted to be.

I forced myself off the ground and brazenly walked up to her, though I almost slipped and fell on a puddle of blood. I swore I could have seen her smile a bit when that happened. At least I knew she was still conscious.

I leaned down next to her and observed her wounds; there was a long gash across her back, coupled with a number of bruises that were blooming along her arms and legs. I couldn't help but wonder what had happened to her, and if there was someone pursuing her. If there was, she was in no way going to be capable of running away.

I nearly had a heart attack when she gripped my arm. She looked up at me and I noticed that she was probably no older than I was. She lowered her eyes and said in a barely audible voice, "I need to give this to Shiro."

I blinked. "Give… this?" I repeated, bewildered. What did she need to give?

She reached into her coat and pulled out a glass box with a piece of paper in it, then held it out to me. "This," she pointed out. "This must become Shiro's. Take it."

"Take it?"

"If you try, you might be able to reach him." She was referring to the difference between her condition and my own.

"But I don't even know who or where Shiro is—"

She gazed at me and repeated, "If you try, you might be able to reach him." Instead of stopping there, she continued, "But if you don't try, you never will."

I mulled it over in my head, trying to decide whether or not I should do as she said. She didn't interrupt my thoughts, but that was probably because she was too tired to do so. There was silence between us. No words, no sounds, no actions.

What I did next was what ultimately changed the direction my life was headed to.

I reached out towards the box and took it from her, careful not to damage it. I didn't understand—what was so special about a piece of paper? Did she really risk her life and get all of those injuries to protect something like this?

And who exactly was this Shiro person?

I was reluctant to ask, but I had to know. "Can you tell me what's going on? How did you get all of those injuries? And where do I find Shiro?"

The girl wasted no time in answering my other two questions; she only seemed to register the last one. "Shiro is—!" She seemed to pause for a moment, deep in thought. "I can show you, er… Your name?"

"Cyl… Lockheart." She looked dangerously fragile lying on the ground, and I was afraid that even saying the wrong thing might cause her heart to stop beating—cause those pained eyes of hers to become lifeless.

I gingerly placed the container into my bag and helped her up, though she was heavier than I had expected her to be. She was only a few inches shorter than me, too. Maybe she was overweight by female standards?

She staggered after being put on her own two feet again, and held onto my shoulder for support. After steadying herself, she said in a hushed voice, "Okay Cyl… Lockheart. It might take awhile, so… protect me. It will be here soon."

I felt slightly unnerved at that statement. "It? You mean your pursuer?"

She gave me a faint smile. "You sure ask a lot of questions. Curiosity killed the cat." Her eyes suddenly became sad and she murmured thoughtfully, "It really did…"

"…I'm sorry to hear that." Well what was I supposed to say?

"Don't worry, he's fine now—he's with Shiro as well. Let's just hurry—" She never got the chance to finish that sentence, as she was interrupted by the hulking monster that was now slinking towards us.

To say that it was not an ordinary animal, at the least, would have been an understatement. It was not ordinary, period. It took the form of an enormous, black hound, except it had two heads, each with about ten eyes extra than was necessary, all glowing impossible shades of red in the dark of the alleyway. It glowered at us, a senile grin spread across each of its faces.

I didn't know what it was. I just didn't want to believe that it was _there_.

"What… what is that? Is that's what's been following you? Things like this… they don't—they can't exist!" I edged back a step, earning myself a murderous roar from the monster. I didn't dare take a single breath after that. I'm surprised that I managed not to piss myself.

I felt her grip on my shoulder tighten significantly, and I saw her glaring back at the dog, not a single trace of fear in her eyes.

"They do—you have to learn to accept them," she stated simply. "There are the things we don't see, but we choose to believe in them because they make our lives more bearable. Then there are the things that we do see, but we choose not to believe in them because they make our lives unbearable." She kept her eyes set on the beast, unwavering for even a second. "But Cyl, we don't want to live in lies. That's why…"

"That's why the Vatican won't rest until they get back what you're carrying. It must become Shiro's before then; otherwise it will never leave." A faint trace of a smile came across her face as she announced, "We're going to change this world, and the Vatican can't stop us."

Change this world? Could the world be changed?

Truthfully, the idea… fascinated me. A world where people could live, unoppressed by the laws of a broken society—a world where no one would be forced to endure a life of solitude and neglect, like I had?

And there was another thing. Could I… shape the world? I'd thought of it before, but I never imagined something so great was within my grasp.

"Do you really believe you can do that?"

She nodded. "We can do it with Shiro."

"Then I'll help you."

I decided right then and there that that would be my ultimate goal. I would be the one to shape the world.

That was what I would accomplish.

I knew that our chances of escaping were slim. I also knew that our chances of escaping unscathed were even slimmer. Nonetheless, there were two things I wanted to know before we made a run for it.

"You," I said, slowly beginning to reach into my bag. The hellhound seemed to notice this, and bared its teeth at me even more fiercely. I ignored it. "Tell me your name. I'd like to know at least that much."

She hesitated. Was her identity that big of a secret? "Yes… alright," she finally agreed. "My name is Tsugumi Reiji."

I nodded. It somehow suited her. "And Shiro is?"

"Shiro Fujimoto."

Tsugumi Reiji, Shiro Fujimoto, _demons_, a slip of paper, a slim chance of survival... All of these things suddenly became important to me. Having enough information, I deduced that there were three facts that I was absolutely certain of:

One: Demons were real and this one wanted to kill me.

Two: My life had been thrown into turmoil because of Tsugumi Reiji, Shiro Fujimoto, and a piece of _paper_. The last thing particularly bugged me.

Three: Everything I thought I'd known about the world had been ruled out in less than five minutes.

I could feel a plethora of mixed feelings rush into my head. The familiar gear my brain took when I needed to think wisely ensued and I began to formulate a plan to get us out alive—though having our limbs fully intact would be nice as well.

I wasn't athletic, and neither did I have any physical skills. If we wanted to survive, and if I wanted to give the blasted paper to Shiro, I'd have to use every ounce of intelligence I had. I nearly laughed as I'd realized that I'd come to be the main character which I had become so accustomed to playing as...

And at that moment, I knew exactly what to do. It was like a video game. All I had to do was avoid getting hurt, simply because there were no second chances.

Because this was the real deal.

I gazed at the demon and challenged him with the most confident grin I could manage. "You know, I enjoy good plot development. It's what keeps me going." One of the demon's heads gave a twisted stare; the other one kept its fangs at ready. "But I'll have to apologize. I have no intention of losing at the beginning of the game."

"In other words… _I'm going to win_."


End file.
